Heartbreak and Other Inconsequential Things
by Emmel1118
Summary: He can't leave her now, not now that hearts have become entangled and feelings have come in to play, but she lets him go anyway – Oneshot – Becca/Paul


_**A/N Well, I guess you could say this is a sequel of sorts to the first time, as it includes an established Becca/Paul relationship, and it could be read that way. **_

_**I hope you enjoy. :)**_

**DISCLAIMER****: **_**I own nothing (apart from the mistakes. They're all mine!) **_

_**Title: Heartbreak and Other Inconsequential Things **_

_**Pairing: Becca/Paul**_

_**Rating: K**_

_**Summary: He can't leave her now, not now that hearts have become entangled and feelings have come in to play, but she lets him go anyway – Oneshot – Becca/Paul **_

_Don't let this be the end of the story. _

It's a cold Friday night and there's a box of half eaten, cold pizza on the table, next to more clutter that she has no real idea what is. It's late, gone midnight, with the light from the stars only slightly peeking through the curtains. The lights in the room are switched on, but one of the bulbs blew a few weeks ago and she hasn't got around to replacing, leaving one half of the room in shadow.

_You can't walk away like this. _

It's cold outside, a biting cold like she never knew until she came here, with the wind blowing down the dead streets outside. It's like a wasteland out there now, the wrong side of midnight, completely silent and frozen, as if nothing has or ever will disturb the peacefulness of it. She wants to scream but what with how calm and simple things look through her kitchen window, she can't bring herself to.

_I never thought things would end up like this._

It reminds her of when she went to visit her uncle once, after he'd been kicked out by his wife and was living in a caravan park a few miles out of town. She couldn't have been more than four or five, but she remembers it vividly. Her mother and her uncle had argued. It had been raining. There was cold pizza on the table then, and the night had been full of words that could never be taken back. It was the last time she ever saw her uncle.

_Why can't things be different?_

Her kitchen is silent, full of shadows and regrets and broken promises. He stands on one side, her on the other. She's leaning over the sink, clutching a glass, mid-wash. His words have caught her off guard. The only thing running through her head as she stands there - frozen like a puppet whose master can't get the strings to work, who refuses to act out the story that's written for it – is that he can't leave her now, not like this, not when she hasn't cleared up her kitchen table, or dammit, even finished washing up her glass. He can't leave her when she's wearing an old, baggy jumper, no make-up and a smile on her face - that as the minuets tick by - is getting more and more ironic. No, he should leave her when she's wearing her best dress, and she should be screaming and crying and there shouldn't be rubbish on the table between them.

It should _mean _something.

He shouldn't leave her wearing a Christmas jumper with a snowman on with a tired look on his face, his eyes betraying how defeated he is.

_Stop. Stop, just stop. Let's just start again. _

The Christmas tree lights are dancing, revelling in a happiness that does not seem to reach the two shattered figures, seemingly lifeless, in the kitchen. She should have known this day was going to come, the moment they first started this dance - that the moment to stop would come and she'd feel dizzy from all spinning as they parted. But still, even though she knew, in the back of her head, it would never end up well, she still hoped, still clung to the dream that maybe, it didn't have to. And now that hope makes the fall that bit more painful.

_Please don't go. _

It's not her fault and it's not his, not really. This should never have started in the first place, so it's no great shame that it's over, is it? Except they both know different. Hearts have become entangled; feelings and emotions have come into play that have no place in a short-lived fling, and now she has no clue which way is up because everything _hurts. _

_We could make this work._

He moves first - slowly and gently, as if, if he moves to fast everything will splinter, and crack into a million pieces - and nothing will ever be the same after that. He turns his back on her, hunching his shoulders, and she can see he really doesn't want to do this, and yet, here he is, doing it regardless, out of some misguided belief that this would never work. She lets him go, lets him walk out, knowing he'll never be back, that she won't let him come back, not after how things have turned out.

_I love you._

She doesn't believe in God. She never did. But he did, of course; believed passionately, without rhyme or reason. She knows that the Church means a lot to him – she could say it was his everything, for it was what defined him. It's his reason to leave her. And maybe, it's her reason for letting him. As long as he puts his God first, she would have to settle for second best and maybe she doesn't want to, so she lets him go and will never find out.

_Goodbye._

She sets the glass down on the draining board.

_The End._

_..._

**_Any thoughts?_**


End file.
